


May the Days Stay Sweet

by takethisnight_wrapitaroundme



Category: God's Own Country (2017)
Genre: Angst, Christmas Fluff, Established Relationship, Gift Giving, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Post-Canon, Traditions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-22 14:57:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22117759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takethisnight_wrapitaroundme/pseuds/takethisnight_wrapitaroundme
Summary: Gheorghe decides they will celebrate Christmas.
Relationships: Gheorghe Ionescu/Johnny Saxby
Comments: 50
Kudos: 236





	May the Days Stay Sweet

**Author's Note:**

> Did I start writing this by hand in bed at midnight last night? Yes, yes I did. Hope it isn’t total crap.

* * *

Gheorghe comes in from doing the watering one day and stares around the living room as if he’s never seen it before. Keeping his muddy boots on the mat, he even leans forward, trying to get a look around the staircase.

“Whot?” Johnny asks from the table, mouth full of breakfast.

“No tree?”

“Hm?”

“No tree, for Christmas?”

Johnny stares at him for a long moment before getting to his feet. His chair scrapes loudly against the floor when he stands up.

“If you think I’m going to go out there,” he begins, stepping towards Gheorghe, “and chop down some tree that’s been growin’ for ten years, drag it in here and do it all up with baubles and tinsel and crap, let it sit and become a great big fire hazard and burn us all to the ground in the middle of the night—“ He is close enough now to poke Gheorghe in the chest, which he does. “Then you’re daft,” he finishes firmly, stuffing the last bit of toast in his mouth.

Gheorghe just stands and stares at him. Then he laughs.

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s just that I believe that’s the most words you’ve ever said to me at one time.”

Johnny rolls his eyes, making for the door. “Piss off,” are his parting words.

* * *

By evening, Gheorghe still hasn’t dropped it.

“Why do you dislike the tree so much? It is tradition here too, no?”

“Not religious,” Johnny replies, passing him a plate of food. Lamb stew tonight, as it has been for the last five nights. Whenever it’s Johnny’s turn to do meals, they always end up eating the same thing for a week. He feels sorry about it, but never sorry enough to try something different and fail.

“But even those who are…” Gheorghe pauses, forehead furrowing in concentration as he searches his mind for the word. Johnny thinks very pointedly, _Atheist,_ but Gheorghe fails to pick up on the telepathy. Johnny doesn’t say it out loud; Gheorghe has made it clear in the past that he prefers to find the solution later himself rather than get help from teacher. “Those who do not go to church,” he concludes finally, “they have trees, no? Because it is tradition for them too. Not religious tradition, just normal tradition?”

He ends the would-be statement with a question, giving Johnny an opening, but he simply shrugs. Usually he likes to be the smart one. Doesn’t happen often. But he’s exhausted by this conversation. Exhausted by this time of year. And they aren’t even halfway to Christmas yet.

“Who gives a flying fuck,” he mutters into his full bowl of stew, sick of eating it already, “about tradition?”

* * *

Johnny spends the next Friday in town, having to cart two cows in to be seen by the vet. It’s ridiculous, having to trailer them in because the roads are, as the vet said on the phone, “very dangerous.” They aren’t dangerous. If he can make it down the lane with his trailer, the bloody vet should be able to get up it in his dinky little electric car, but Johnny doesn’t say that. There’s only one large animal vet in the area, and it’s no secret he gets offers from other counties for more money. He could pack up and go at any moment, and then where would they be? Go to keep him happy, which means bowing to his every stupid whim.

He comes home pissed, pissed at the vet, pissed at the cows that aren’t better, pissed because it’s freezing, and he slips and falls straight on his ass on his way back to unload the cows. He wants to yell in frustration, but he doesn’t. Gheorghe would come running, and the last thing he needs is to be angry at the one person who puts up with him day in, day out, and for some reason likes it.

It’s warm in the house when he comes in, all covered in mud and wet in the seat through three layers. He’s thinking of making a beeline for the bath, maybe coaxing Gheorghe along with him, when he notices something in the corner of the room. Like Gheorghe did the other week, he keeps his feet planted on the mat and leans forward for a better look.

But he doesn’t need a look, not really. He smelled it the second he walked in.

Their ceilings are low, so the tree is squat and fat, but Gheorghe made it look nice, somehow. Shouldn’t be a surprise, really—he’s always had a talent for runts. The tree is decorated with a string of lights that used to hang outside the barn door to direct them in the night, and swathed in garlands of popcorn (Johnny’d been saving that popcorn, damn it), and here and there it’s hung with the few remaining ornaments Johnny hadn’t smashed all those years ago. Gheorghe must’ve gone down to the cellar for those. Johnny stares and he wonders how long all this took.

He stares and he wants to rip it down.

He stares and he feels his eyes, those damn traitorous eyes, start to burn.

“I am sorry.” He jumps when he hears Gheorghe’s voice off to the side. “I thought it would be nice. I did not mean to make you sad.”

“Not sad,” Johnny sniffs, wiping his leaking nose on his sweatshirt. “Just…”

“What?” Gheorghe comes over to his side, and slips a hand underneath the back of his sweater. It doesn’t touch skin—he’s got too many layers on for that—but Johnny can feel the warmth of his touch anyway, and it’s nice.

“Not sad,” he whispers again. “Just…” He heaves in a breath, lets it go. What is the point of lying anymore? “Just lonely,” he whispers, and when Gheorghe reaches for him with another hand, Johnny buries himself into the refuge offered.

* * *

The bathwater is so dark with mud it almost looks like coffee. Johnny leans back, using Gheorghe’s chest as a pillow. One of Gheorghe’s arms is wrapped around Johnny’s torso, the other is combing through his hair. Calmly, methodically. He’d make a good hairdresser, Johnny thinks and then immediately dismisses the thought. He doesn’t need to be thinking about her anymore than he already does this time of year.

It doesn’t do any good. He gets like this sometimes—he fixates on one wrong done to him, and it’s all he can think about for hours. Days, sometimes. Weeks.

He had promised himself when Gheorghe came back that he’d try harder to be a better person. So he opens his mouth, and he tries.

“Mam’s the one what liked the tree. Decorated every year. It’s one of the few things I remember from her.” A smile tugs on his mouth at the memory; he knows Gheorghe can’t see it and so he does not try to quash it. “I loved that room in the winter. Used to live in it, sleep in it. It was so nice, with all the lights. Everything green and red and bright and warm. The fire goin’ in the background.”

He shifts slightly to alleviate a pain in his backside; he’ll be aching from that fall for days. The hand Gheorghe had in his hair falls to his shoulder. Johnny turns his nose into it, nuzzling. They’re not so different from the beasts, he thinks sometimes. Everybody just wants a warm place to  live , and someone to share it with.

“We didn’t do presents, really,” he continues in a whisper, words muffled against Gheorghe’s hand. “Didn’t have the money for it like others. But it didn’t matter to me. The tree was enough.”

He doesn’t talk about the rest. About what it was like when she was gone, about how he used to not be able to sleep unless he curled up in an old sweater of hers. Or how when he was thirteen and Nan asked him to get the decorations out, he smashed them all up instead, and they never had another Christmas after that. Gheorghe knows enough of the bad things about him already.

And still, he holds Johnny and kisses his ear and doesn’t let him go.

“Your tree’s enough, too,” Johnny whispers, and then he shakes his head, because that’s wrong. Why does he always get it wrong?

He moves up into a sitting position, and then turns so he can face Gheorghe. He wants to look him in the eyes when he says this. He needs to.

“You’re enough, I mean,” he whispers, and he smiles a little, because he finally got it right. He can see it there in Gheorghe’s face. “You’re more than enough for me.”

* * *

It isn’t until they’re in bed together on Christmas Eve that Johnny finally believes he won’t be alone on the day. It’s stupid to carry around so much worry about something so little—as if he doesn’t have a hundred other things to worry about on a daily basis—but that didn’t stop him. He hates that he always expects Gheorghe to pack up and leave, but he does. His past has taught him that good things never stay long enough for you to learn how to appreciate them.

And so when Gheorghe does stay, Johnny thanks him in the only way he knows how. Again and again and again and again, until he’s so tired he can’t keep his eyes open, and his body is raw in ways he’s never imagined, and the sheets are so wet they have to sleep wrapped up in the duvet on the floor to stay dry.

Gheorghe doesn’t ask, doesn’t press. But eventually it comes out anyway, near dawn.

“I thought you might go  back , like you did the first couple years.”

Against his back, Gheorghe shakes his head. “There’s nothing for me there. You know that.”

“Your family.”

Family has never been much comfort to Johnny, not even when it was alive and whole in this very house, but he knows Gheorghe is different. He calls his parents weekly, when he has service. When he doesn’t, he writes long letters that take too long to arrive, but which are cherished by their recipients nonetheless. Some of them are even framed, Gheorghe has told him.

“I love my family,” he whispers. “And if I could take you back with me and have us all be together, I would. But it is not possible.”

“What was it like?” Johnny asks. “When you visited last?”

Gheorghe tells him. He talks of the farm that was, and the little apartment that’s taken its place. He talks of the food and the smells and the sky and the people. He talks of the flowers again, just as dawn sneaks into the room. Johnny tries to make a note to remember. Flowers, he thinks. I should buy him flowers.

But he falls asleep instead, and when he wakes up, it’s well into morning, and they’re late for the feeding.

* * *

They’re so busy that day, catching up with all the chores they missed in the morning, and moving slow due to lack of sleep, that Johnny forgets it’s actually Christmas until dinner is over, and Gheorghe places a plate in front of him.

There are two things on it. A funny little pastry, and a rectangular box about the size of his hand.

“Baklava,” Gheorghe explains, seeing the look on his face. He pushes the plate a little closer. “Try it. Go on.”

“No need to rush me,” Johnny mutters, reaching for the thing. “When have I ever said no to a dessert?” But instead of swallowing it in one go, like he does with most desserts, he takes a careful, minuscule bite, just with the tips of his teeth. Gheorghe gives him a withering look, and Johnny grins before shoving the whole thing in his mouth.

“Bit nutty,” Johnny says through his mouthful, and Gheorghe smiles that closed-lipped smile Johnny loves so much. Either he said something right, or he said something stupid, and tonight he doesn’t care. The pastry’s dry and it takes him a bit to swallow down. Eventually he manages, and then turns to the package.

“Wha’s this then?”

“Open it and find out.”

Johnny takes it in his hands, pushing the plate back, but he doesn’t open it. He stares at it for so long that Gheorghe has to tell him again to open it. His voice has an edge of nerves this time.

“I don’t want to,” Johnny admits in a whisper. He traces the edge of his index finger against the little red ribbon wrapped around the box. He can’t remember the last time someone gave him a present. His mam, probably. Decades ago now. “If I open it, it’ll ruin the surprise. I don’t want to do that.”

Gheorghe frowns. “But you must. It’s a gift; it has to be opened.”

Johnny shakes his head, sitting back in his chair in defeat. “I’ve got fuck-all for you.”

“I don’t care,” Gheorghe answers. He reaches a hand across the table, fingertips ghosting against the back of Johnny’s hand. “Besides, I liked your gift last night. Your many gifts.”

Johnny glances up, not comprehending. And then it clicks.

“Cheeky bastard,” he mutters, face heating, but he’s smiling too.

He turns back to the gift. He takes in a deep breath and then, carefully, he pulls at the ribbon. When it’s free, he sets it aside, as if to save for later. He opens the lid of the box. Inside, there is a thin ball chain with one circular disc attached. It’s like something a soldier would wear, with their name and blood type and all that stamped on.

But instead there’s just a collection of numbers. A date, Johnny realizes, for he recognizes it immediately.

“It is when you came for me,” Gheorghe explains quietly, though he doesn’t have to. Johnny remembers. He won’t ever forget. “It is when you came for me, and you brought me home.”

Johnny doesn’t say anything. He just stares. He brushes his fingers over the indentation, and he remembers. It was years ago now, up at that potato farm in Scotland, but it feels like it was just yesterday sometimes.

“I’m lucky,” Johnny whispers slowly, as if realizing it for the first time. “Lucky to have you.”

“I am lucky too,” Gheorghe whispers, but Johnny shakes his head.

“No, you’re not,” he smiles, refusing to compromise, not about this. “You’re nowhere near as lucky as me.”

* * *

The next Christmas, there are presents waiting under the tree. Enough that Santa might have had a hand in it, though they’re too old to pretend. They tried anyway—they went into town separately to shop, and wrapped things up when the other was asleep or out working, sneaking them under the tree whenever they had a free moment—and the result is worth it. It makes Johnny feel like a kid again, and not a sad one either.

They are mostly practical things, the gifts, but they both open up every one as if it something precious, and expensive. There are gloves and hats and socks, and some new brushes for the cows. There’s a proper raincoat for Johnny, and a new sweater for Gheorghe. It’s green, for Johnny thought it would look nice against his skin. And it does.

Eventually there is only one present left. A present that’s been appearing and disappearing almost daily, though whether or not Gheorghe noticed that, Johnny has no idea. Even now, as he passes it over, he feels the urge to snatch it back and hide it again. It’s too much, too soon. He’s always doing things wrong.

But then Gheorghe is opening it, and either way, it’s too late.

Johnny’s too scared to watch his face, but even more scared to look away. He has to dig his fingers into his palms so he won’t run.

“A ring,” Gheorghe says quietly, examining the little box.

Johnny nods, his mouth dry. He watches as Gheorghe picks it up and turns it. Watches as he sees what’s inside.

He didn’t have enough money to pay for the engraving, not after buying the ring itself. So instead he etched it in with a chisel, as carefully as he could, over the last few weeks. He got a thousand little nicks on his fingers from doing it, but he thinks it turned out okay. And if it didn’t, then Gheorghe can throw it out. Maybe he wants to throw it out anyway.

“I copied you a little,” Johnny admits. “With the date idea and all. But it’s different, see—” Johnny breaks off, feeling stupid for having to defend his own present. He should’ve just stuck with the sweater. That was a good idea, and Gheorghe liked it.

He’s still staring at the ring. He’s slipped his pinkie inside the ring to touch the engraving.

“It’s the day I picked you up in town,” Johnny feels the need to say, in case Gheorghe doesn’t remember. “You were smoking outside the train station. It was late, and—”

“You think I’d forget the day I first saw you?”

Gheorghe has the ring held delicately between his two hands, and Johnny glances over nervously, meeting his dark eyes for only a moment before looking away again.

“A ring,” Gheorghe whispers again, turning it this way and that. It is many moments before he asks, “Which finger does it go on, John?”

“Well, any that’ll fit, really, I’spose.” Johnny clears his throat. “Though, um… It may only fit on one finger. Just so you know.”

He doesn’t mention that he _knows_ which finger it will fit, or that he measured that finger obsessively while Gheorghe was asleep this past year, just to check that the size didn’t fluctuate too much between seasons.

To his credit, Gheorghe doesn’t pretend to guess. He takes the ring in his right hand and slides it onto his left. It fits so perfectly Johnny almost wants to cry.

“In my country,” Johnny begins carefully, “a ring on that finger means…” He swallows, balking. Why did he think he could do this? Why did he ever think Gheorghe would want this? “It means commitment,” he finishes lamely, staring down at his own bare and calloused hands.

“Commitment,” Gheorghe repeats slowly. “That means marriage, no?”

Johnny’s heart beats harder in his chest at the word he’d been avoiding, but he refuses to look up. He still hasn’t gotten an answer yet. And he knows what this sort of roundabout talk means. How could he have misjudged this so completely?

“Johnny.” Gheorghe’s hand moves to cover his, and Johnny focuses on the ring. He can’t see anything but the ring. “Look at me.”

It takes him more than a few seconds to lift his head. He’s greeted by Gheorghe smiling—not that little, secret smile that hides his teeth, but a big, happy, almost goofy smile that takes up his whole face.

“A ring means the same thing in my country, too. We are not so different, do not forget.”

“I won’t.” He pauses. His body is one coiled nerve, waiting for a spark. “Is this you saying…”

“Me saying…?” Gheorghe draws out the word, mimicking him. Johnny scowls. “You haven’t said anything yet. Do I not get a speech?”

“I don’t do speeches.”

“Do I not get a question I can give an answer to, at least? Tell me how you feel about me, and then ask your question.”

Johnny shakes his head. “Why do you make me say it? You know how I feel. You’ve known for years.”

“I like to hear you say it sometimes. So I don’t forget what it sounds like.”

Johnny takes in a sharp breath, attempting to steel himself. He doesn’t know why this is so hard. He’s said it before. And it isn’t like he hasn’t made it clear in other ways. Like when they go to bed together at night, or they work together side by side all day. Saying it doesn’t make it any more real than it already is. And not saying it doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel it, every moment of every day.

But Gheorghe is asking for one thing. And so he will gladly give it.

Johnny takes his left hand in both of his, ribbing his thumbs against the ring. It is smooth and soft, but with a bit of an edge when turned the wrong way, just like the man who wears it. Johnny bends down and presses a kiss to the ring. When he lifts his head, that little smile has taken up residence on Gheorghe’s face again. Johnny never tires of seeing it. It’s like a secret only he is privy to.

“I love you,” Johnny whispers. “I’ve been in love with you for years. Through everything, I’ve loved you. When I lost Dad, and then Nan…” He sniffs, looking down. Now is not the moment to cry like a baby, so he lifts his head again and faces Gheorghe. “You were always there. When I was a bastard to you, you were still there. I don’t know why.” He manages a weak laugh. “I really don’t. Maybe you’re wrong in the head or something. Maybe I’ve been rutting with a half-wit all this time.”

“Fuck off,” Gheorghe mutters.

“Hey.” Johnny squeezes Gheorghe’s hand with his. “Quiet, now. This is my speech.”

“I thought I asked for a question, not a speech.”

“You’re asking for a lot more than that right now, I’ll tell you,” Johnny huffs and Gheorghe simply smiles. He nods, telling Johnny to go on.

“I don’t have much else to say,” he whispers. “Except I love you. And I don’t ever want to be without you. I guess I just…” He sniffs, blinding hard. These damn eyes of his. He never used to cry this much. “I want you to be my man, is all.”

“I am your man. Always have been.”

“Well… Then I guess I’d like it to be official. Papers and all that. If you want. We’d have to go to the register office, figure out the whole visa mess again…”

“Now we are discussing documentation? How romantic.”

“You really are being an ass. I’m trying to do a nice thing here—”

“I know, John.” He leaned over to kiss his cheek. “Thank you. And I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Johnny murmurs, leaning into his touch. “You know I like you cheeky.”

Gheorghe pulls back with a smile, kisses Johnny on the lips, and then looks back down at his ring.

“It is beautiful. And I will wear it always.”

Johnny shakes his head. “Don’t be daft. It’ll get in the way when you’re working. Pinch the skin, like. And it’ll get loose in winter. Better you leave it in the house than lose it—”

“You gave it to me,” Gheorghe interrupts softly. “And it is a symbol. So I will wear it always.”

“Yeah?” A smile flickers on Johnny’s face.

“Yes,” Gheorghe answers, and leans forward to kiss him again.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I watched this movie last night and then it just wouldn't leave me, so I had to get this out. I hope you liked it--reviews would be most welcome. x


End file.
